A Walk in the Park
by coloradoandcolorado1
Summary: After a disturbing fire at a local park, John is stalked by a threatening presence. Can Roy and the crew put the pieces together in time to prevent a tragedy?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimers: These characters do not belong to me, unfortunately. I am not making any money on writing for fun.

The man stood behind a veil of tree branches, hidden in the darkness. Not that anyone was in Emerson Canyon Park at that hour. He had double-checked the parking lot at the trailhead twice to make sure it was empty: once before driving up the fire road to the top of the west rim and again when after he came back down.

From where he now stood on the east rim, he could see the flames ripple orange and yellow on an outcrop of rocks. It was the perfect spot to set a fire: a flat rock with boulders on three sides to prevent the flames from spreading or attracting unwanted attention. In fact, his vantage point was the only place one could watch the growing blaze unobstructed, which is how it should be. The fire was for his personal viewing pleasure only.

He had approached this problem like he did everything else in his life: thoroughly and methodically. And solving this felt as if he had finally gotten rid of a bad taste in his mouth.

Weighing all the variables when faced with a dilemma—that was what he excelled at. And this solution was brilliant. He would watch until the fire burned down to nothing, then he would drive to the Food Basket grocery store in Long Beach and leave the suitcase in the dumpster out back. He had called to confirm that it would be emptied at 6 a.m. Nothing was left to chance.

But what the man didn't realize was that he couldn't control all the variables. On this night two unknowns he hadn't accounted for were a wind from the south and the Culliver family dog.

From the time he set the fire, scrambled up to his truck on the fire road, drove to the opposite ridge, and climbed to where he now stood, the wind had risen from the south. It wasn't much of a breeze, but it was strong enough to pick up some sparks from the fire and send them into the waiting arms of a dead oak tree that stood above the outcropping.

At the same moment Jason Culliver half-walked, half-jogged down the main Emerson Park trail. His two-year-old terrier had gotten out of the yard again, and between the children waking up and crying hysterically and his wife fretting that Spots might get hurt, Jason had no choice but to grab his jacket and flashlight to search for the dog. Because Spots had bolted from their subdivision and ran into the park across the road the last time she escaped, that is where he now headed.

"Five minutes. That's it. I'll look for five minutes," Jason said angrily. He just hoped Amy would have the kids back in bed before he got home. As he searched for signs of his wayward dog, he saw a flash of light as the old oak tree went up like a Roman candle. Jason froze for a moment, and then raced back to his house to call the fire department.

The man hiding in the trees also saw the oak burst into flame. "No!" he shouted as the fire crawled up the trunk and across the branches. _Stay calm_, he thought. _No one saw it. _But Jason had, and eight minutes later the man rapidly clenched and unclenched his fists as he helplessly watched flashing lights in the distance draw closer. A small emergency vehicle followed by a fire engine snaked up the hill opposite from him until they stopped exactly where he had parked earlier.

_Get out of here!_ screamed a voice in his head. But he couldn't. He had to see this through to the end.

•

•

"Well that ain't right." Engineer Mike Stoker leaned forward over the large steering wheel of Big Red to glance up at the fire before looking back to the road and the next switchback.

"Nope, it's not," agreed Captain Hank Stanley. The call came in for a brush fire; the man reporting it couldn't say if there was anyone injured. But from what Cap could tell, this was just a bonfire that had spread to a lone tree. It was a clear June night, and he could partially see flames shooting up from some rocks. Standing alone in a bank of scree, a nearby tree was fully engulfed, but the fire thankfully didn't appear to have spread anywhere else.

The squad pulled to a stop just above the fire; the engine pulled in next to it. Paramedics John Gage and Roy DeSoto jumped out as linesmen Chet Kelly and Marco Lopez disembarked from the engine.

Cap calmly took charge of the situation. "Marco, you and Roy take a line to the tree. Chet and John, take one to the bonfire."

John headed to the main fire with Chet to extinguish the blaze on the rocks. The fire had died down some, so it was easy for the firemen to get it under control.

"It's the summer solstice, you know. Someone set a bonfire. It got out of control, they got spooked and took off," Chet theorized.

"Are there Druids in L.A.?" John asked skeptically.

"I bet so!" Chet shot back.

"I always knew there was something different about you!" John teased. "Let me know when your next meeting is. I'd love to come."

"Ha, ha, ha. Man, you are so funny I forgot to laugh," Chet said dryly. "I'm telling you, that's what happened here."

John pulled himself up to the flat rock on which the fire had been set. "Huh…I don't think so."

"Really, Gage? What do your remarkable powers of deduction tell you?"

John squatted to get a closer look at the still-hot debris. Something under the ashes caught his eye. "I think this is more than kindling."

"Like what?"

Grabbing a stick to his left, John poked at the ashes. Something bright and colorful caught his eye. He caught its edge with the stick and pulled it toward him. It was a gold buckle on a turquoise background. Warily he eyed the smoldering remnants. There was something odd about the way the branches had been stacked, but what grabbed his attention was the large, dark mass in the center. There was something familiar in its shape.

With a gasp, Johnny scrambled backwards. "I…I think it's a body."


	2. Chapter 2

As a pink dawn fell on Emerson Canyon Estates, residents awoke to see their serene view spoiled. On the west rim of the canyon, police cruisers stood like silent sentinels above a hillside swarming with dark figures going up and down, up and down. Some people watched from their homes while others walked across the road to the main parking lot and milled around the parked fire engine.

After ensuring the fire was out and consulting the first police officers that arrived on the scene, Cap had ordered the squad and engine down to the main parking area. As time passed, more police cars arrived, then an unmarked car carrying a detective while the firemen watched, mesmerized. Cap made sure his crew remained available to be questioned, though there wasn't much to say. After John had alerted him, Cap had radioed dispatch about the gruesome discovery. No one had touched the remains or moved anything from the area.

The wild clover bordering the parking lot, damp with nighttime dew, was gradually warmed by the growing sunshine, filling the air with the fresh scent of nature. John normally loved clean, new mornings outdoors, but today was colored by the memory of the charred and blackened bones still smoking in the ashes. Leaning back on the hood of the squad, Gage asked no one in particular, "Can you believe it?"

Roy joined his partner in gazing up at the hill, which was now bathed in sunshine. "No, not really. You okay?"

"Yeah." John appreciated his partner's concern, but he wasn't fooled. Every man on the crew was shaken up. "I mean, who would do that to another person?"

"Someone very evil," Roy said.

"Hey, guys, the police say we can go now," Cap called over. "Let's head home."

"Finally! I could use some coffee!" exclaimed Marco.

Chet agreed. "And some sack time!"

Roy walked to the driver's side door of the squad, but John remained transfixed. He had committed his life to helping those in trouble. The idea of killing someone in such a horrible way—he couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"Let's go," Roy said.

"Huh? I'm coming." John stood and stretched to his full height. As he turned toward the squad, he spied something golden in the grass. To his surprise, he plucked an old pocket watch off the ground. "Well, what do you know?"

He examined it closely. The exterior was plain with no decoration. John opened it to see the hands frozen at nine and two; engraved on the inside lid were the initials "MAG."

He approached an older man who was standing nearby. "Excuse me, sir, did you drop this?"

The man glanced at the watch and shook his head.

"How about you?" Johnny asked another man. He ended up showing it to several people with no luck. Finally he slipped the watch into his pocket. Maybe he could put a classified ad in the lost and found section of the paper and return it to its owner.

The watch's owner, however, didn't need to be found; he stood a few feet away among the residents and other onlookers. As John opened his watch, the man frantically patted his jacket pockets. How could he have been so careless as to lose his watch?

When he walked through the parking lot so many hours earlier checking for witnesses, he thought he had heard something gently hitting the ground, but he hadn't checked. He hadn't checked! Now a fireman had the pocket watch. Not only could it tie him to the scene of the fire, it would tie him to _her. _But what was intolerable was the fact that the fireman had looked him straight in the eye and asked if the watch belonged to him.

He could be identified.

A shudder shook his frame. His perfect plan had gone completely and disastrously wrong. As the engine and squad slowly headed down the road in a cloud of dust, the man memorized the number emblazoned on the door: 51.

•

•

Detective Salvatore "Sonny" Molino watched the coroner's dark wagon drive down the hill. The medical examiner had told him it was possible that there were enough fingers left on the body to make an ID with prints, but only if the person was in the system. Otherwise Sonny would have to comb through missing-person reports or wait for someone to report a woman missing.

Molino flipped through his notebook. He had canvassed the locals watching the proceedings as if it was a freak show, but he had come up empty. The crime scene unit had found nothing but some unremarkable trash. If there was any other physical evidence, it had been destroyed in putting out the fire. The firemen hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. Except for the body, of course. In frustration Sonny reached into his front shirt pocket and pulled out his last cigarette.

"Thought you were trying to quit?"

Sonny smiled wryly at Officer Vince Howard, a friend from the police station. "I try to do a lot of things."

"Any leads?" Vince asked, watching the departing coroner's bus.

"Nothing. I hope we can identify her."

"Her?"

"Apparently the ME could tell it was a female from her pelvis bones," Molino replied. "He'll let us know cause of death and whatever else he finds after the autopsy."

"Someone wanted to make sure she was never found. If that fire hadn't spread and Engine 51 hadn't responded so quickly, there would've been no remains to find. Who knows how long it would've been until some hikers went up on those rocks?"

Sonny agreed. "You need to take that sergeant's exam, Vince. I could use the help. Well, I'll be seeing you around."

"See you later, Sonny."

The detective pocketed his cigarette for another time and lumbered back to his dark Ford sedan, already putting this murder out of his mind. He had other cases to follow up on, and besides he couldn't do anything until he knew who Jane Doe was.

•

•

"A" shift was on again the next day and after bringing in a patient with chest pains, Roy and John stopped by the nurses' station to get some supplies. As they went over their checklist, Nurse Dixie McCall strode deliberately down the hall toward them. She rarely let herself become angry at work, but today was the exception. She slammed a stack of papers down on the counter with a punishing bang.

"The nerve of that little…dweeb!" Her blue eyes flashed angrily.

"What's the matter, Dix?" John leaned over the counter.

"Andy in accounting. He implied I didn't fill out form 426B correctly for a patient's billing record! Can you imagine?" She pulled a paper from the top of the pile and shook it at the paramedics.

"Wow, form 426B?" John shook his head. "No one fills out a 426B like you do, Dix. Roy, wasn't I just saying just the other day that Dixie's form 426Bs are always perfect?"

"He did, Dix." Roy deadpanned. "I know if I want a 426B done right, I can always count on you."

The nurse's frown gradually became a grin. Her favorite paramedic duo could always put her in a good frame of mind. Unless, of course, it was one of the times Johnny entered the ER injured. "This form is filled out correctly," she said with certainty. "And the next time I see Andy, I may pop him on the nose!"

"Isn't it early in the day to be threatening coworkers?" Dr. Joe Early looked up from base station with a smile.

"Just those in accounting," she replied.

"Hey, Roy, John," Dr. Early said. "I heard you had a rough one the other night in Emerson Park."

Both paramedics grew solemn. "Yeah, it was," said Roy.

"It was on the radio this morning… something about a body?" Dixie asked.

John nodded. "I found it."

"Oh, Johnny, how awful for you," she exclaimed. "You, too, Roy."

"It wasn't something I want to see ever again," Johnny admitted with a shiver. "I just hope they catch the crazy person who did it."


	3. Chapter 3

_I am so sorry this has taken so long to post! I blame the following:_

_1. This story giving me fits._

_2. My crazy family becoming crazier._

_3. The charity I work with having its big toy giveaway this week._

_I hope to do better in the future!_

_I'm also sorry there was some confusion about why Johnny didn't turn the watch over to the police when he found it. The way I pictured it was this: There is a trail near where I live. If you park at the trailhead, you can look up to where the trail ends at the top of a very big hill that in actuality is a good two miles away. So, if the engines are parked below and the police are at the top, Johnny wouldn't necessarily put two and two together to think the watch had anything to do with the fire. And the police weren't down in the parking lot, so that is why he didn't turn it over to them._

_Anyway…sorry for any confusion or interruption in your suspension of belief that may have caused. Now back to our regularly scheduled reading._

•

•

Johnny was zipping up his jeans when Roy entered the locker room.

"Two days off!" John smiled. "I can sure use it."

Roy grimaced as he caught a glance into Johnny's locker and the pile of papers that threatened to spill out onto the floor. "Have you ever considered cleaning that up?"

"Why?"

Roy rolled his eyes. "It could be classified as a disaster area."

"I know where everything is," John said defensively.

"The only thing you keep neat is that." Roy gestured to the simple string of beads hanging on a hook. John didn't respond, but Roy hadn't expected him to. John rarely talked about his necklace, but Roy knew it had something to do with his partner's parents. When Roy had first seen it, he did ask about it. John had simply said, "It means everything to me."

"So what are all these index cards for?" Roy changed the subject, reaching over to pick a blue three-by-five card off the tilting stack on the messy locker shelf.

"Learning, Roy." John tapped his forehead. "Medicine is always changing, and there's a lot I don't know. So I wrote out a bunch of terms on these cards to memorize."

Roy read the back of the card. "What does 'AVNRT' mean?"

"Let me think…let me think…A Very Nice Rapid Ticker," John said and pulled his black T-shirt over his head. "Arioventricular nodal reentrant tachycardia. It's a type of tachycardia that is more common in women than men."

Roy unbuttoned his uniform shirt. "Wow! But why 'A Very Nice Rapid Ticker'?"

John shrugged. "It's just a way to help me remember."

"Junior, you amaze me sometimes."

John gave him a lopsided grin. "I know."

Roy finished changing and slapped his partner on the shoulder. "All right, then. Will we see you for dinner tonight?"

"You bet!"

•

•

Order and method. Order and method.

That's what his grandfather had always preached. But today the man added a third term: _repetition_. Whatever was worth doing was worth doing well over and over again.

He knew how to get information on people. So he used the same techniques he had employed in the past to acquire a list of all the fire department captains in L.A. County. He then applied the same methodology to finding the names of the crew members on the different shifts. He determined which shift had been on duty at Station 51 the night in question, then through a process of elimination figured out which two men were the paramedics that worked the A shift: Roy DeSoto and John Gage.

He circled their names in red ink, then rifled through his folder and pulled out their home addresses. All he needed to do was identify which one was the slender, dark-haired one.

Popping a cough drop in his mouth, the man dialed the phone on his desk. "Gary? It's me. I'm not feeling well again. I need to take a few sick hours this afternoon. Yes, everything is caught up. Thanks, I'll be in early tomorrow."

Slipping the folder into his leather attache case, the man smiled. "As easy as pie."

He spent the rest of the afternoon parked two houses down from the DeSotos' suburban home with its neat green lawn and well-trimmed trees. Around three o'clock, an attractive woman wearing a blue peasant skirt and a white eyelet top left the house and drove off in a Buick station wagon. She returned an hour later with an armload of paper grocery bags.

An hour after that, a white Land Rover pulled into the driveway. The man drummed his fingers slowly on the steering wheel—the person driving it was the paramedic who took his watch! He watched as the man locked his car and walked to the front door. The handsome, slender man rang the bell.

The killer smiled. If the man who took his watch was ringing the doorbell of the DeSoto home, he obviously didn't live there. He wasn't Roy DeSoto. He had to be John Gage.

A boy and a little girl greeted Gage at the door, each child grabbing one of his hands and dragging him inside. Unwrapping another cough drop, the man circled John's name on his list several times.

The killer put his truck in gear and pulled away from the curb.

•

•

Sonny felt extremely irritable when he drank coffee without the comfort of a cigarette, especially when it was the lousy brew they made at the station. He particularly resented the lack of nicotine in his system when he had to make a death notification.

Trying to be healthy was hell.

That morning the detective got a hit on the fingerprints the medical examiner was able to obtain. Jane Doe from the park was Bonita Williams, age 28, single. After doing some digging, he found out she had an older brother, Brent, who lived in Michigan. Sonny hung up the phone after talking to the man and really wanted to take a drag of a Marlboro. Instead, he tossed his Styrofoam cup in the trash and grabbed his keys.

"Sonny! Gotta sec?"

"Sure, boss."

Sonny went into the office of Captain Peter Phillips, a long-time veteran of the San Diego Police Department who had transferred in last year and quickly earned the respect and trust of his men. Sonny lowered himself into the too-small visitor's chair across from the captain's beat-up wooden desk.

"Listen, I'm getting some heat about that Emerson Canyon murder. Any leads?"

"Don't they know a murder investigation takes time?" Sonny asked incredulously. "It's only been a week."

"No, they expect it to be instantaneous, like on 'Kojak.'" Phillips unconsciously rubbed his balding head.

Sonny suppressed a smile. "Well, I did get an ID on the vic this morning: Bonita Williams. She lived in Carson. Her prints were in the system for a shoplifting arrest nine years ago." Sonny flipped through a few pages in his notebook. "I just got done making the notification to her brother. He told me Bonita got her act together after the arrest, went to school, and became a physical therapist."

"Cause of death?" Phillips asked.

"Small caliber gun shot wound to the head. We didn't recover the bullet in the body or at the park. That, plus no apparent blood evidence at the scene, leads me to think it's not the primary location; the park was where the killer had hoped to destroy the body."

The captain steepled his fingers. "I can see burning the body at the scene of the crime to destroy evidence, but to do it in a public park? That's a lot of effort and planning on the part of this perp—transporting the body, gathering wood. Not to mention the risk. It seems to me burning the body was more symbolic than anything else."

Sonny considered this option thoughtfully. "He must have really wanted to see every trace of her gone."

"He particularly knew about that rock formation. Why burn her there?"

"I dunno, Cap. But I'll find out."


	4. Chapter 4

Johnny paused to check his reflection in the rearview mirror before getting out of his Rover, just to make sure his teeth were clean and his hair was lying right. He usually had dinner once a week with the DeSotos, and even though he felt like they were his family, he still wanted to look his best for Joanne.

_You must be getting vain in your old age_, he thought wryly.

Jennifer and Chris met him at the door with an enthusiasm that warmed his heart. He waved hello to Joanne, who was busy in the kitchen, as the kids led him into the backyard where Roy waited with a Frisbee. The guys tossed the neon green disc around for nearly ten minutes before Jennifer began to pout. The blonde-haired girl had waited as patiently as a six year old could before starting to whine for her "uncle's" attention.

"It's OK if you want to go with her, Uncle Johnny," Chris said confidentially. "She wants to show you something."

"That's big of you, buddy." John mussed the boy's hair playfully as they headed inside.

"Uncle Johnny, come see!" Jennifer exclaimed happily.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked.

She took him up to her bedroom where all of her most recent watercolor pictures were on display. Johnny examined each one and expressed the appropriate awe until Joanne called them down to dinner.

She had prepared a spinach salad with warm bacon dressing followed by pork chops and Spanish rice made with a perfect blend of garlic, tomatoes, and peppers. June meant strawberries in Southern California, so fresh shortcake completed the meal.

When they finished, Joanne excused the children to go play. Roy stood to get a new bottle of wine and poured his wife and best friend each a glass.

"Jo, if you keep feeding me like this, I'll have to move in." John stretched and patted his stomach appreciatively.

"You're always welcome, Johnny," Joanne replied. Roy slid his arm around her shoulders.

"It was really good, sweetheart." He leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Thanks for making it."

John looked a little wistful as he watched the happy couple. "Maybe there's something to be said about being married…"

Joanne's sputtering cough turned into delightful laughter. "If I hadn't heard it with my own ears, John Gage, I wouldn't have believed those words came from your mouth!"

Amused, Roy took a sip of his drink. "Don't believe it, Jo. Johnny isn't done playing the field."

His partner nodded in agreement. "There are just too many pretty ladies out there."

"Say, Johnny," Roy said. "Did you ever get a response to the ad you ran in the paper about the pocket watch?"

"What pocket watch?" Joanne asked.

Roy glanced over his shoulder to make sure the children weren't coming back into the room. "Didn't I tell you? Johnny found a pocket watch in Emerson Park… you know, where we found the body," he whispered.

Joanne sat up straight in alarm and turned her attention to John. "You found a watch where someone was murdered and didn't turn it in to the police?"

Shaking his head, Johnny set his glass down. "I didn't find it by the fire. It was a couple of miles away where we were parked. And no, Roy, no one has called about the lost-and-found ad."

"I still think you should give it to the police." Joanne's green eyes shone with worry. "It might be connected somehow to that poor woman."

"Tell you what. I'll give Vince Howard a call to get his opinion. Will that make you feel better?"

She started to speak, but Chris ran excitedly into the room. "Uncle Johnny! Look what I got for my birthday!" The boy held up the box to a brand new _Game of Life_. "Wanna play?"

"Sure, kiddo," John said agreeably.

"You guys go on. I'll just clean up a little in here," Jo said.

Chris, Roy, and John went to the living room where the game was already set up. Jennifer agreed to be Johnny's partner and serve as "driver" of his game piece. After Joanne had put the leftovers away, making sure to pack some for Johnny to take home, she arrived in the living room in time to play in the second game. Everyone laughed when Johnny ended up with two sets of twin girls.

"Kids, it's bedtime," Roy said and both children groaned.

"Can we have a story?" Jennifer asked. "Can Uncle Johnny read us a story?"

"Yeah, can we?" begged Chris.

The children turned their wide blue eyes to their parents.

"One story," Joanne said. "And that's only if Uncle Johnny agrees and only after you're in your pajamas and your teeth are brushed!"

Roy smiled as the kids raced each other out of the room. "They love it when you come over, Johnny."

"Well, I love spending time with them." John trailed after his adopted niece and nephew. "Chris, Jen—can we read _The Cat in the Hat_?"

The DeSotos began putting the game away. With one hand, Joanne smoothed down her pixie-cut red hair, something she always did when she felt nervous. The gesture wasn't lost on Roy.

"What is it, Jo?"

"That watch," she said quietly. "Even if he found it far away from the fire, I don't like it that he has it."

"When we go on duty next, I'll remind him to call Vince." Roy pulled his wife into a warm hug. "It's sweet of you to worry about him."

Joanne pushed away in mock anger. "Roy DeSoto, you know he's the closest thing I have to a little brother. Of course I'm going to worry about him!"

After tucking the kids in and saying goodnight to his best friends, John leisurely drove home. As he pulled into his small apartment complex, John couldn't believe he still felt full. He had an unusually fast metabolism and was often teased for constantly being hungry. It was rare when a meal stayed with him for several hours, but then again, Joanne was a rare cook.

Parking in his regular spot under some fragrant eucalyptus trees, John grabbed the Tupperware containers of food Joanne had given him and walked to the back entrance. He was surprised to see the latch on the wooden gate broken and made a mental note to tell his landlords, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan.

He had been lucky to find these older mom-and-pop-run apartments when he first moved to L.A. His affordable rent only went up modestly once a year, and it was a quiet neighborhood. The Morgans lived onsite in the first apartment and repairs, which unfortunately had to be called in more often than not, were made quickly. Once in a while Johnny wished he lived in a modern complex with newer plumbing and better insulation, but for right now this place suited his needs.

In the U-shaped complex, John's apartment was on the second floor in the corner. He didn't have the best view from his living room, but if he stood in front of the large picture window and looked to one side, he could see the swimming pool in the quad. And since his closest neighbor had moved out two months earlier, he had the corner basically to himself.

Walking into the dark apartment, the first thing John noticed was an unfamiliar scent in the air. It was unusual, like rotting citrus fruit. Johnny paused, then flipped on the lights.

For several seconds, he stood frozen as he assessed his home. Half Native American, Johnny had a reputation in the department for being able to sense changes in the atmosphere, which benefitted him and his coworkers immensely when he "felt" if a fire was about to flash. But even though he could sense something, his apartment looked the same.

Closing and locking the door behind him, John went to the small galley kitchen and put the leftovers in the refrigerator. The strange aroma was present but not as strong. He sniffed inside the icebox but didn't see anything going bad.

Johnny cautiously walked to the bathroom and turned on the lights then repeated his actions in his bedroom. Standing in the doorway, he noticed a couple of dresser drawers slightly ajar. Had he left them open like that?

Something was off, something he couldn't put his finger on. John entered the room slowly; the fruity scent was stronger in here. He opened his closet and after finding no one there, he dropped to his knees and looked under his king-sized bed.

Slowly, John came to his feet and put his hands on his hips. A sudden rattling noise caused him to jump, but it was only the blinds in the window softly swaying in the breeze. Confused, he rubbed his forehead. "I swear I closed that."

He moved the sheer curtain panels to one side and pulled up the blinds to find the sliding window facing the quad open. The screen, while intact, was as loose and flimsy as it always had been. He closed and latched the window, jiggling it a few times to make sure it was secure. Silently, Johnny stared out into the darkness. Everything looked normal, but he couldn't escape the uneasy feeling he had. Slowly releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Johnny lowered the blinds and turned to go watch television in the living room.

As he left the bedroom, John didn't notice the strange cough drop wrapper he stepped on.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimers:** I am not a fireman, a doctor, a physical therapist, a nursing home worker, or a psychotic killer. I just like to write. Any and all factual errors are totally mine._

Normal. Completely, absolutely normal.

Bonita Williams' apartment showed Sonny that the young woman liked crossword puzzles, attended a local Methodist church, and enjoyed a cold beer now and then. The only drugs in sight were over-the counter-pain relievers.

After thanking the victim's landlord for letting him in, Sonny got in his sedan and sat silently for a few minutes. The crime was filled with rage; it was personal. But nothing in Bonita's lifestyle indicated she was involved in any high-risk behaviors. If that indeed was the case, it was possible he had a psychotic killer murdering at random on his hands. But he couldn't jump to that conclusion without learning more about his victim.

•

•

Sonny hated it when women cried at any time but even more so when they became upset after he told them someone they knew had been murdered. There was just nothing he could do to make them feel better. Experience had taught him to always carry several handkerchiefs in his coat pocket, just in case. Today he needed to pull out all three when he met with Bonita Williams' coworkers at Carson Physical Therapy.

After consulting briefly on the phone with the office manager, whom it turned out worked mainly from their Long Beach location, Sonny met with the other therapists who made up the small facility's staff in their crowded storage/break room.

"How can she be dead?" sobbed Denise Griffiths, a young woman in her twenties with unnaturally red hair and soft green eyes outlined in smeared kohl.

Nancy Randall, who had the natural good looks of someone who had grown up in the Midwest, gave Denise a hug, then turned to Sonny with tears streaming down her own cheeks. "When Nita didn't show up for work, I knew something was wrong. I just knew it."

With a full black Afro pulled back with a bright pink headband, Cindy McBride tried to maintain her composure but her lower lip trembled. "Poor Nita. I thought about filing a missing-person report, but I never thought…I mean, I never imagined she…who would've done this to her?"

"I'm very sorry for your loss, but if you're up to it, I need to ask all of you a few questions," Sonny said gently. The three women exchanged a quick glance and then nodded.

"Was Bonita seeing anyone? What about a boyfriend?"

"Nita had been dating a Marine down at Camp Pendleton, but he shipped out four months ago," said Cindy. "They parted on good terms."

"Was Bonita having any problems at work? Any angry patients recently?"

"Not at all. Everyone loved Nita!" Nancy cried out defensively.

Cindy nodded. "The patients she worked with were mainly women who treated her like she was their daughter."

Sonny tried a different tack. "Was she concerned about money or having any difficulties that way?"

Denise hiccupped. "She never mentioned it to me if she did."

Nancy agreed. "We don't make a lot here, but we manage."

"Tell me a little bit about her," Sonny prodded. "How would you describe her?"

"Nita was really thoughtful. One time I mentioned that my favorite flowers are carnations. Months later, on my birthday, what do you think I found waiting for me? A big bouquet of red, pink, and white carnations. Nita had remembered. That's the kind of girl she was," Nancy said.

Cindy nodded. "She bent over backwards for people. She really cared."

"Do you have a picture of her?" he asked.

Denise left the room and returned with a wooden picture frame. "This is the four of us at last summer's company picnic. I always told Nita that she could be a Breck Girl with that long hair."

Sonny felt a pang as he gazed at the vibrant young woman with flowing brown curls and bright blue eyes.

"Thank you for your time." He stood and shook their hands. "Here's my card. If you remember anything else, be sure to give me a call. No matter how small it may seem."

Consoling each other, Denise and Nancy left the room, but Cindy stayed behind. "Detective Molino? There is one thing," she began quietly. "Nita wanted to buy a house, so to get some extra money, she sometimes moonlighted over at Ridgeview Heights Nursing Home. Moonlighting is against the rules here, so not many people knew about it."

Sonny scribbled in his notebook. "Thank you. You've been a big help."

•

•

Ridgeview Heights Nursing Home wasn't the nicest facility the detective had ever seen, but it certainly wasn't the worst. The two-story building was set back on a quiet street. Once cheery yellow with crisp white trim, the building now showed its age as fading yellow paint strips peeled off and fell into bordering juniper bushes.

Sonny had set a time to meet with the director, Eileen O'Reilly—_Ms._ O'Reilly, she had informed him pointedly—for later in the afternoon. While the women at Carson Physical Therapy had taken his handkerchiefs in their grief, Ms. O'Reilly left no doubt that she would not need one. With steel-gray hair and the personality of a drill sergeant Sonny had once had, Ms. O'Reilly confirmed Bonita Williams picked up a shift every few weekends. Upon hearing of the murder, Ms. O'Reilly had simply lifted an eyebrow.

"I know very little about the staff's personal lives," she said.

"May I speak to some of her patients?" Sonny asked.

Ms. O'Reilly pursed her lips. "I hardly think that is a good idea."

"Well, what you think is a good idea isn't my priority. I am trying to solve a murder," he patiently but firmly said. "Certainly there are some residents with whom she spent a lot of time?"

"Perhaps Mr. Garrison," she relented. "But you'll find he suffers from bouts of dementia."

"I would like to talk to him." Sonny tried to be pleasant but he had had enough of this old battleaxe.

Ms. O'Reilly harrumphed. "It's your time to do with as you please."

She led him down a clean but dimly lit hallway to a south-facing bedroom. Hunched over and small in a wheelchair, an old man sat in the late-afternoon sunlight.

"Mr. Garrison, you have a visitor. This is Detective Molino, and he would like to talk to you about Bonita Williams."

Mr. Garrison didn't acknowledge either her presence or her comment, so Ms. O'Reilly left Sonny to his own devices. As he sat down on a thinly padded chair next to Mr. Garrison, he was surprised to hear the older man speak loudly.

"Judy was a sweet girl," Mr. Garrison announced.

"Is that so? Who is Judy?"

Wispy white hair waved as he vigorously shook his head. "My daughter isn't here. That's her picture on the dresser."

Sonny looked over his shoulder at a yellowing Kodak snapshot of a woman with long brown curls, not unlike Bonita's. "Mr. Garrison, do you know Bonita Williams?"

The older man's gnarled hands trembled as he brought them to his face. "She helps with my exercises."

"That's right," Sonny encouraged him. "Do you remember the last time she was here?"

"Nita was here last week." Mr. Garrison's brown eyes looked clear and focused.

"What did you two talk about?"

Mr. Garrison leaned forward as if he was sharing a big secret. "The orderlies will tell me all kinds of things because they don't think I understand. But I understand a lot."

"I'm sure you do, sir," Sonny said. "Did Bonita tell you about anything?"

"Who?" The old man's expression became cloudy.

"Bonita Williams, your physical therapist."

"Did you know I own some land?"

_This may be a useless rabbit trail._ The detective sighed. "Is that so?"

"Near Emerson Canyon."

Sonny did a double take. "Where did you say it was?"

"Emerson Canyon. I tell Judy all about it when she helps me do my exercises."

"Judy? I thought you said Bonita helps you with your exercises?"

"That's what I said! Aren't you listening?" Mr. Garrison said querulously. "We talk about the orange trees and Michael growing up there. Have you seen Judy? I haven't seen her in a long time."

"No, I haven't, I'm sorry. Now Emerson Valley…"

"A beautiful parcel of land. Picked it up for a song when I got out of the Navy. Judy will really appreciate having it when I leave it to her."

With growing excitement, Sonny tried to make his voice stay even. "Who else knows you own that land?"

"Everyone knows that. Why are you asking me about my land?" Agitated, Mr. Garrison began to fumble with the wheels of his wheelchair. "Nurse! Nurse!"

Ms. O'Reilly reappeared in the doorway. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, detective."

"But…" Sonny began, frustrated that the only possible lead he had found was fading with the old man's vague memory.

"I have to insist, Detective Molino. If you want to talk to Mr. Garrison again, I suggest you contact his next of kin."

Sonny stood to leave. "Ms. O'Reilly, could you get me his next of kin's name and contact information?"

Now calmer, the old man smiled. "Nita will really like that land. She's a sweet girl."

"That's great, Mr. Garrison. You take care."

Thin and reedy, the old man's voice followed the detective down the hall. "Have you seen my watch?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** My daughter informed me that there was no way this would happen in real life, to which I said, "Then it's a good thing that this is fiction." So suspend your belief and enjoy.

•

•

_He ran through the canyon, which was bursting with orange poppies, wild grasses, and Manzanita. It was a cool day, but the sun glowed brilliantly in a painfully blue sky. As he rounded a bend, he saw his grandfather. Something gold glittered in the old man's hand._

"_I want you to have this. Keep it with you always." His grandfather held out the treasured pocket watch, the same watch he had seen in his grandfather's vest pocket over the years. Just as he reached for it, his grandfather grew impossibly tall. "Why can't you do anything right?" the old man yelled._

_Then his mother skipped by__.__ He screamed silently as his grandfather leaned down and gave her the watch. "Too bad, so sad," she trilled._

"_It's mine!" He chased after her. "I hate you!"_

_She only laughed._

In twisted, sweat-soaked sheets, the man awoke from the nightmare with a start. He felt ill with a pain radiating in his stomach and his head pounding.

"Oh, God," he whispered and ran for the bathroom. Afterwards, he tumbled back into bed, knocking a stack of file folders off his nightstand in the process.

He had slept later than he intended. Now it was too late. _Too late!_ Confused thoughts jumbled in his mind. Nothing else mattered but the watch. There was no time for a careful plan or clever options. It had to be now. He jumped from the bed and threw on whatever clothes he could find.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up near the apartment complex. He balled up his fists and rubbed his eyes. He was thirsty, but he didn't care. Pocketing his .22, he ran to the back gate where the latch still hung broken from his visit the other night. He walked up the stairs and straight to John Gage's door.

•

•

After spending his day off camping in the nearby mountains, Johnny had just gotten home, feeling proud of the fact he had arrived in plenty of time to not be late for work. He carried his tent up to his apartment, checked his messages, and used the bathroom. He just needed to get the rest of his gear out of the Rover, take a shower, and head into the station. Relaxed and renewed, he felt ready for another shift at the job he loved.

As John opened the front door, he was surprised to find a man in a black, hooded sweatshirt poised to knock. What happened next was a blur.

The man was shorter than John, but he had the element of intention and rushed the paramedic like a defensive tackler. Slammed backward into the ground, John's head hit the carpet with a sickening thud. Dazed, he wondered why this man would wear a sweatshirt with the hood up on such a beautiful day. He also wondered why the man was pointing a gun in his face.

"Turn over! Put your hands behind your back and keep your eyes shut!"

His head throbbing, John followed the instructions to the letter. The man stood over him breathing rapidly. "Now where's the watch?"

With his hands still at his back, Johnny slipped off his Timex. "Here, take whatever you want."

"Not that watch, moron. The pocket watch!"

John hesitated. "What?"

As his captor leaned down close to Johnny's ear, the paramedic noted the man's breath smelled like a sickly combination of citrus and cough drops. "The watch you found at Emerson Canyon Park, fireman."

"What?" Johnny asked again. His thoughts raced a million miles a minute. How did this robber know he was a fireman? How did he know about the pocket watch?

"Are you an idiot? The pocket watch! Where is it?" the man thundered.

John tried to come up with a reasonable answer that wouldn't lead this man to the station where he kept the watch, but before he could, the man screamed, "Roy DeSoto! Sound familiar? I know where he lives. If you don't tell me where my pocket watch is, I'll go and…"

Panicked, Johnny exclaimed, "It's at the station in my locker!"

The man began to pace. "That was really stupid of you, fireman. All right. You and I will go to there. We'll go in without talking to anyone and get my watch."

_Is this guy crazy?_ Johnny thought. It didn't matter; he knew he had to do whatever it took to keep this lunatic away from the station. "I can't just go in and not talk to my friends! Some of the guys will be in the locker room for sure. They'll know something is wrong!"

After a minute of silence, the man spoke. "You're right."

The gunman lifted the receiver of the phone on the end table and dialed. After a second or two, he began to speak in a panicked tone. "Yes, I'd like to report a fire at Villa Mall. I saw a guy setting a fire in a trashcan in Sears. Wait a minute; it could have been JC Penney's. It might have been Robinsons. It was one of the big department stores. Send the fire department fast! People are going to get hurt!"

He hung up slowly. "Villa Mall is only a few miles from where you work, so I expect the crew will be searching for that fire by the time we arrive."

Desperation flooded Johnny. "Look, you don't have to do this. I'll give you the watch. No questions asked. You can take it and go."

"I do have to do this," the man said resolutely. "You saw me at the park. You know about _her_."

Connections started firing in John's brain and he inhaled sharply. The watch. The fire. The body.

_The murderer._

Realizing he was in the hands of a killer, Johnny tried to remember how he usually spoke with agitated patients, but the gun thrust into the back of his neck took all rational thought away.

"Now get up slowly and walk to the door. I'll be right behind you. Don't look back at me."

The pair exited Johnny's apartment and went down the back stairs unnoticed by the children and parents gathered at the sparkling swimming pool in the quad.

"You're driving," the killer ordered. John slid into the driver's seat while his captor got in directly behind him. Again the puff of breath at John's right ear was fruity and wrong. He glanced up briefly into the rearview mirror and saw the man clutching his stomach. Johnny's medical training overrode his terror and he started to recognize several symptoms of a condition he had just been reading about. If he kept quiet, the man might soon pass out and he could escape. The man also might suddenly die. No matter who this person was, he was a human being and Johnny knew he had to try to help.

"Listen, man, I think you may be really sick…"

"Shut up!" the man raged. "Don't talk again or I'll kill you! Let's go!"

John backed out of his space and drove the familiar route in silence.

"Pull in here." With the muzzle pressing behind his right ear, John pulled in to the station's parking lot, which was filled with the cars of C shift's men.

"Leave the keys in the ignition," the man said. "Did you see that woman and little boy sitting at the bus stop out front?"

"Yes." John's voice shook.

"You're going to go get the watch in the next minute. If you call for help or are one second late, I will shoot them."

Johnny stole a glance at the clock in the dashboard. "Please, no one has to get hurt…"

"And after I kill them, I will drive over to Roy DeSoto's house and kill everyone there."

"No, God, no! I'll do whatever you want." Without thinking, John anxiously turned toward the man. When the butt of the gun slammed into his temple, John actually thought he saw stars.

"Don't look at me!" the man screamed.

John instinctively held his pounding head; as he pulled away his fingers he saw they were coated in blood.

"I'm not fooling around, fireman. Now go."

Johnny had run track in high school and his internal stopwatch switched on the minute he jumped from the car. Ignoring his injuries, he breathed a sigh of relief after seeing the barn was empty. None of his friends would be in danger. He tore across the empty bay to the locker room. Practically ripping the door off his locker, he grabbed the watch and shoved it in the front pocket of his shorts.

Knowing he had no time, John frantically wracked his brain for a way to communicate to his crewmates that he was in danger. With one sweep of his arm, he pushed all the papers and cards in his locker onto the floor. Then he tossed out his uniform. All that was left was his precious string of beads. Carefully but quickly, he removed it from the hook and placed it on the bench. If that didn't let his friends know something was amiss, nothing would.

With only a handful of seconds left, Johnny grabbed a pen and one of the index cards off the floor. Hastily he scrawled a few words he hoped Roy could piece together.

"Who's there?"

John's heart sank. It was Chet, and he was headed toward him. Without a second's hesitation, Johnny charged from the locker room.

"What the hell!" Chet exclaimed as his friend slammed into him, pushing the shorter man to the polished floor.

"Chet, stay down!" John hissed.

Bewildered, the fireman knew this was more than a silly prank the two usually played on one another. Frozen by his inherent trust in Johnny and the fear in his crewmate's expression, Chet obeyed and sat perfectly still.

"Gage!" he called after the retreating figure as an index card gracefully drifted down toward him like a feather.


	7. Chapter 7

With the kids at school, Roy spent a couple of quiet hours puttering around in the garage while Joanne worked out back in the garden, trimming the moon flowers and cutting sweet peas to make an arrangement. After putting his tools away, Roy went upstairs for a quick shower before work. As he put on jeans and a polo shirt, he heard his wife come in from the yard.

"If I had known you were taking a shower, I might have joined you," she said playfully at the bedroom door.

Roy groaned and shut his eyes. "Joanne DeSoto! You can't do this to me when I'm leaving."

Laughing, his wife gave him a kiss. "Don't forget to remind John."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and smiled. "I'm afraid you're going to have to remind me what I am supposed to remind him."

"The watch? You're going to remind John to call Vince about that watch," she said smoothing down the front of his shirt.

"Oh, yeah!" He kissed her again. "Tell the kids I love them. I'll give you a call this evening, if I can."

"Stay safe."

After a quick commute, Roy pulled his sports car into the parking lot behind the station. To his surprise a police car sat in his regular spot. Crossing the empty apparatus bay, he saw Marco standing to one side, still wearing his civvies. "Hey Marco, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure." Marco folded his arms across his chest. "I went to go change, but Vince Howard stopped me. Said I couldn't go in the locker room."

"Why is Vince here?" Roy asked.

His friend shrugged. "I don't know. He's over there talking to Cap and Chet."

"Hi guys." Mike had silently come up behind them. "What's the deal?"

Hearing members of his crew arrive, Captain Stanley walked over followed by a serious-looking Vince and an obviously keyed-up Chet.

"Cap?" Marco and Roy asked in unison.

"Something odd has happened, fellas."

"What?" Mike asked worriedly, noting Cap was still in his street clothes, but Chet had on his uniform.

There was no mistaking their captain's concerned expression. "Kelly, tell them what you told me."

A thin sheen of perspiration covering his forehead, the stocky fireman spoke at a rapid-fire pace. "I got to work early, so I went in the kitchen to make coffee for the guys of C shift because they are out on a call, right? Then I hear someone running and a second later there was this loud bang. So I yell, 'Who's there?' and go to the locker room. Then, boom! Gage comes flying into me like a bat out of hell and flattens me! I mean, straight to the floor! He tells me to stay down, so I do. Then he throws an index card at me and takes off!"

Listening intently, Roy made a face. "That doesn't make any sense, Chet. Surely he told you what was going on?"

"Just that note." Chet gestured to the blue index card Vince held. "When I realized he wasn't coming back, I went out to the parking lot, but his Rover wasn't there. It was crazy, even for Gage! So I ran to the locker room, and man, there's stuff thrown everywhere, and it looks like it's all from Gage's locker!"

Stanley joined in. "I thought I'd play it safe and call Vince. I've tried repeatedly to reach John at home, but there's no answer."

"What's it say?" Marco asked warily.

Flustered, Chet threw him a confused look. "What does _what_ say?"

"The note Johnny wrote." Marco placed a comforting hand on his upset friend's shoulder.

"You know I can't read Gage's chicken scratch!" cried Chet.

"Roy probably knows John's writing better than anyone," Cap said to Vince.

The policeman handed Roy the card. "I know I can't make it out."

Even by Johnny's standards, the handwriting was terrible. Roy's brow furrowed as he squinted to read the slanting words. "I think it says 'Help,' which is underlined. Then it says 'Watch Body Park,' and then 'Key to AC.'"

Vince looked from one man to the next. "Any idea what that means?"

With a growing unease settling over them, all five shook their heads. Still staring hard at the note, Roy turned on his heels and walked quickly to the locker room. Strewn across the floor lay the rest of John's index cards, his clean uniform, and countless papers. The others joined Roy in baffled silence.

"Why would Johnny trash his own locker?" he wondered aloud.

"Maybe he found it this way and thought you did it, Chet," Marco said, trying to lighten the mood. "That's why he knocked you down."

"Look!" Chet had circled the locker contents before noticing Johnny's necklace, which lay sad and neglected on the bench.

The worried feeling growing in Roy's stomach suddenly became one of cold, hard fear. He brushed by Cap to pick up the delicate beads. "The only—and I mean the _only_—reason John would leave this out in the open like this is if something is wrong."

Chet nodded his head. "Even The Phantom knows not to ever mess with Gage's Indian stuff. But if something was wrong, why didn't he just tell me?"

"Where's the pocket watch?" Mike squatted down to survey the clutter on the floor.

As the crew quickly did a visual sweep of the room, Vince's frustration grew. "Pocket watch?" the policeman asked. "What pocket watch?"

"The one he found in the park where that woman was murdered," Chet answered.

"What?" Vince whirled around to face Stanley. "John removed evidence?"

"No, of course not. It was nothing like that!" Cap jumped to the defense of his youngest crew member.

"When we were getting ready to leave, Johnny found a pocket watch, but not at the fire," Roy explained. "He found it down at the trailhead where we were parked."

"He told me he had asked a few people on the scene if they had lost it," said Cap. "He even ran an ad in the _Penny Saver_ to see if he could find the owner. He was keeping the watch in his locker."

Marco stepped forward. "What if the 'watch' John wrote about in his note meant the pocket watch?" he suggested. "It would fit with 'Body' and 'Park.'"

Suddenly all of Joanne's concerns related to the watch and the murder echoed in Roy's mind; he gently held his partner's necklace a little tighter.

"OK, even if that's true, what does it that have to do with how he acted today?" Cap reasoned. "Why does he need help?"

"I don't know," Mike said quietly. "But a woman was murdered and set on fire not that far from where Johnny found the watch. And the killer hasn't been caught yet." The engineer didn't verbalize his thoughts frequently or at any length, but when he did, what he said carried a lot of weight with the men.

Vince Howard rubbed his forehead. "If that watch is somehow related to the murder… Listen, I know the detective working the case. I'll give him a call."

Pacing, Chet mentally reviewed the earlier events for the fiftieth time. "Wait, I just remembered something else!" he exclaimed. "I couldn't really see it that well, but Gage had a cut on his head. It was bleeding."

"He was hurt?" Marco asked apprehensively.

All of the anxiety Roy felt balled up in his gut. "Why did you let him leave?" he exploded.

Chet held his hands up in defense. "He told me to stay down!"

"Since when have you ever done what Johnny has wanted you to do?" Roy shouted.

Angrily the fiery Irishman lashed back. "Shut up, DeSoto! I stayed on the ground because…because I knew he was serious! And…"

"And?" Roy demanded.

"And because of the look on his face, OK? Gage was scared."

A heavy silence fell on the room. Finally, Vince said, "Captain, for now no one goes in this room. Notify your command chain. I'm going to go call this in…whatever _this_ is."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimers:**__ These characters aren't mine; I'm still poor, etc._

_The daughter is heading back to college, so hopefully there will be more time to write! Thanks for all the kind reviews._

Thinking back on it, Johnny had wanted to knock Chet on his butt for years. He could imagine blowing up at his crewmate after one prank too many or a really inappropriate wisecrack, but he never thought he'd lay Chet out to save his friend's life. At any other time, Johnny would have found the sight of The Phantom sitting stunned on the floor hilarious if not for the life-threatening situation he was running headlong into.

Flying across the parking lot, John practically dived into the driver's seat.

"Give it to me," the man ordered.

John pulled the watch out of his pocket and passed it over his shoulder without looking at his captor. The paramedic heard the man let out a long sigh as he snatched the timepiece. Then the gun was pushed up to his ear.

"Drive."

Johnny threw the Rover into reverse and sped out of the drive, away from his friend, away from the station, away from the random strangers this man had threatened to kill. Hot tears stung John's eyes; for as much as he wanted to protect everyone, he knew he was speeding away from any semblance of safety. And there was no real reason for the killer to keep him alive.

Focusing on the road ahead, he drove silently, occasionally stealing a look in the rearview mirror. With the sweatshirt's hood still pulled up, the man's face was partially obscured, but John could see his captor was taking panting breaths. Mentally reviewing the man's earlier symptoms, the paramedic felt certain his diagnosis was correct.

John's mind raced through different scenarios to try and escape. He could crash his car into a pole or slow down and bail out, but he didn't want to risk an innocent bystander getting hurt. He could try to reason with the man to let him go, but that didn't seem likely. He could come up with some pretense to stop the car, and then overpower the killer.

None of these options were good. Noticing the man clutching his midsection again, John decided on a different course of action. Clearing his throat, he summed up his courage. "So how long have you been a diabetic?"

•

•

After the captain informed his crew that they were stood down for the next two hours to cooperate with the police investigation, Marco went outside to do a few chores. He needed some fresh air, away from the other guys. He had noticed the tension in the station ratchet up after Vince and Cap placed their respective phone calls. It jumped a few degrees higher when C-shift returned. Leaning against his car, Marco said silent prayers for his missing comrade.

After their frustrating false alarm at Villa Mall, the men of C-shift had been ready to call it a day, but they couldn't change in the locker room; Vince Howard had ordered it off limits. He did relent to let them get their clothes and change in the latrine or retrieve their car keys and just go home. Naturally curious, the crew had asked Mike for details, but he had remained closed-mouthed as he checked out the engine. He concentrated on his job as best he could, but the engineer was distracted.

Roy absently stirred his coffee, although he hadn't added anything to it. If Johnny were trapped in a structure fire, he would know what to do. If his partner had a broken leg, he would know what to do. But Johnny was missing, presumably in danger, and Roy could nothing about it. He stood silently, lost in what-ifs.

Chet, on the other hand, kept an ongoing monologue running under his breath as he sat at the table. "Man, all I did was come to work early. I didn't want to any of this to happen. I didn't ask Gage to throw a stupid note at me."

Even though he still felt angry that Chet had let Johnny leave, Roy knew his coworker was blaming himself more than he ever could. "It's not your fault, Chet," Roy said with a sigh.

Kelly flattened his hands on the tabletop and threw his head back. "Roy, I don't want Gage to be in trouble or hurt. If I knew what was going on, I would've… If he had only told me…"

"I know," Roy said quietly and poured his coffee down the drain.

•

•

Sonny Molino didn't really believe in coincidences, but he had to wonder when Vince Howard called at the same time the detective sat down at his desk and opened the Bonita Williams case file. What Vince reported about John Gage and the situation at Station 51 caused the hairs to stand up on the back of his neck.

"I'll be right there," he said.

His instincts told him whatever was going on with the fireman was tied to his case. Grabbing his coat, Molino ducked his head in Capt. Phillips' office to let him know the latest developments before heading out. Reasonable traffic allowed him to make good time to the firehouse, and Vince met him at the door.

"Sonny, thanks for coming so quickly." Vince escorted him to the locker room where Captain Stanley waited. "Detective Molino, this is Captain Hank Stanley."

"Good to see you again, Captain." Sonny extended his hand. He had recognized the captain immediately from the scene of the fire.

"Hope you can help us find our missing man," Stanley said.

Molino surveyed the papers on the floor. "Tell me again, Vince."

"Station 51 was the company that responded to the fire at Emerson Canyon Park," Vince began. "When they were parked below the canyon rim, Paramedic John Gage found a pocket watch. He kept it here in his locker. Like I told you on the phone, Gage apparently tore his locker apart today before his shift was supposed to start. He went running out of this room and knocked down one of his coworkers, Chet Kelly, and ordered him not to get up. Kelly told us Gage had a cut on his head and look terrified. Gage also threw this note at Kelly."

Looking at the index card Vince handed him, Molino studied it. "What does this say?"

"According to Roy DeSoto, Gage's partner, this word is 'Help.' Then this line says, 'Watch Body Park.' And this says, 'Key to AC.'"

Captain Stanley noticed Molino's bushy eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch at the contents of the note.

"I called you because of the connection between finding the watch at the park so close to the crime scene and Gage's apparent disappearance," Vince said. "Plus the watch is now missing."

Molino looked in John's locker. "And these papers and clothes were in Gage's locker?"

"Yes," Stanley said.

"OK. Captain, you can have your locker room back," the detective said. "May we use your office?"

"Of course."

Watching the two officers leave, Cap pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if he had any aspirin in his desk. "Roy, Chet, Mike, Marco, over here!"

When the men assembled around him, Cap took a deep breath. "Detective Molino is here. He's the one we talked to at the Emerson Canyon fire. He's given us the go-ahead to use the locker room, so why don't you guys pick Gage's stuff up off the floor?"

"Sure, Cap," Chet mumbled.

"Roy, I've been calling John's and there's still no answer, so I've requested a replacement to cover his shift," Stanley said reluctantly.

His senior paramedic nodded mutely.

"You all right, Roy?" Marco asked.

"As OK as any of us are doing right now, I guess." Roy knelt down to pick up an index card. Johnny's handwriting, much clearer than his scribbled note, listed a medical term in black ink with a "clue" written on the other side in red. Roy smiled sadly. His eager young friend constantly wanted to learn more, do more, to get better at his job and help more people.

"Johnny, where are you?" Roy asked under his breath.


	9. Chapter 9

Roy sat on the edge of the bench in front of the lockers, pressing his fingertips hard again his closed eyes as if this action could stop the unwanted images of what Johnny might be going through from whirling in his wincing brain.

Sitting up straight, he surveyed the disheartened group. The men had made short work of picking up the contents of Johnny's locker and carefully placing them back inside much neater than they had been before. He inhaled deeply and felt his best friend's string of carved beads resting lightly in his shirt pocket. Chiding himself for spending time frozen in inaction, he stood with a slap on his knees. "Johnny is counting on us to help him."

"How are we supposed to do that when we don't know where he is?" This was from Mike as he walked slowly back and forth, fingering one last blue index card.

Roy was determined. "He wrote that note for us, no one else. He wouldn't give us a clue we couldn't figure out."

Marco had been sweeping the floor, the rhythmic swishing of the broom lulling Chet finally into silence. He stopped and leaned the broom up against the wall. "You're right, Roy. We have to do something."

"We're pretty sure we know what most of the note meant, but 'Key to AC'? Key to air conditioning? Air conditioning units don't need keys." Finished with the police, Capt. Stanley's long frame leaned against the doorframe.

"A lock needs a key," ventured Chet.

"Maps sometimes have keys," suggested Marco.

As Roy watched Mike absently flip the blue card, an idea struck him. "I think the answer has been staring me in the face this whole time. Johnny had been trying different ways to learn new medical terms, like word play and mnemonics. That's what the index cards were for. What if 'Key to AC' is one of those plays on words?"

"It sounds like something Gage would do," Chet said.

"You're the paramedic, Roy. What medical term would 'Key to AC' refer to?" Mike asked.

"'Key to'…might mean keytone," Roy guessed.

"What's that?" Marco asked.

"A keytone is a byproduct of fatty acids being broken down for energy by the liver and kidneys."

"That isn't helpful," Cap said with a rueful chuckle.

"Leave it to Gage to give us a clue that doesn't help at all," muttered Chet, disheartened again.

Roy's thoughts raced. "Let's go with keytone right now. If that's the case, then 'Key to AC' might have been Johnny's way of memorizing ketoacidosis. In diabetics, that's a condition that can occur when someone isn't producing enough insulin."

Mike shrugged. "How is that going to help us find him?"

"I don't know." Roy's blue eyes darkened. "But if Johnny is right, this guy must be presenting obvious symptoms. Ketoacidosis is really serious."

••••••••••

"I'm not a diabetic!" The killer's voice seemed to explode on the last word.

His heart pounding in time with his aching head, John persisted in spite of the fear coursing through his veins. "You're displaying all the symptoms of diabetic ketoacidosis. You have to let me help, you're sick."

The man shook his head. "How stupid do you think I am? Turn left up here."

"You have to get some insulin in your system. If you don't, you are going to die. Man, you have to believe me!" John tried to make eye contact with his captor in the rearview mirror, but the man stubbornly sat in profile. John did, however, see the gun still pointed straight at him.

"See the brick building? Pull into that alley," the man suddenly ordered.

John obeyed and brought the Rover to a stop in the narrow alley between two old office buildings. He frantically looked for someone, but the alley was empty.

"Get out with your hands up, fireman."

Johnny opened the door and got out with his trembling hands in the air. "Look, man, we can talk about this…"

The man was about three inches shorter than John, his face hidden in shadow. For a split second he thought about rushing the man, but the gun held him at bay. "Lay down in the back."

Johnny anxiously looked around, then with no other choice, he opened the back door and climbed in. He laid down on his right side and squeezed his eyes shut. Wondering if his life would flash before his eyes, John thought of Roy, Joanne, the guys at the station, Chris and Jenny. He thought of his parents and his aunt and the afterlife.

He wondered how much dying would hurt.

But no gunshot came. Instead he felt his captor lean over and bring something heavy down onto the back of his head.

••••••••••

Sonny placed the receiver back on the cradle. "APBs are in the works for Gage and his car."

"Would you mind sharing with me what you think is going on?" Vince asked.

"This is the kind of case that makes me want a smoke." Sonny closed the personnel file Cap had given him on John and drummed the desk with his fingers. "I remember when I was at the crime scene, we sent the firemen to wait in the parking lot below, right?"

Vince nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that's where Gage found the watch."

"There were a lot of onlookers down there, too, right?" Molino stared up at the ceiling. "The killer set the body on fire in a place that was hard to get to, hard to see. He didn't expect Bonita's remains to be found, at least not for a long time. But someone did see the fire and that messed up his plans. What if the killer hung around to see what would happen?"

"Are you saying the perp might have been down in that parking lot? He might have seen Gage find the watch." Vince considered the possibility thoughtfully. "That would explain a lot."

"Somehow he was able to get John's name and track him down. To me it looks like he kidnapped John and forced him to come here for the watch," Molino said.

"So this watch presumably will identify him. But do you have any suspects?"

"Here's what I know. Bonita Williams moonlighted at a rest home. One of her patients owns land out by Emerson Canyon where her body was found."

"That's too much of a coincidence."

"There's more. The old man said he wanted to leave his land to his daughter, but then as he was talking to me about it, he kept getting her mixed up with Bonita. And get this: When I was leaving, he asked if I knew where his watch was."

"Whoa. Could he be our guy?"

Sonny shook his head. "No. He's frail and has dementia. But I have contact info for his next of kin, a grandson, Michael. I'm thinking that we need to go pay him a visit right now."

"Want some back up?" Vince asked seriously.

A knock on the door interrupted them as Roy stuck his head in. "Detective? I think I may have the last part of the clue figured out."

"Come in, DeSoto." Vince waved him over. "Detective Molino, this is John Gage's partner, Roy DeSoto."

"Good to meet you," Sonny said. "What does 'Key to AC' mean?"

"I think it stands for ketoacidosis. It's a condition associated with diabetes."

Vince asked, "How would John have recognized it?"

"Some of the symptoms are obvious, like stomach pain, confusion, thirst, and breath that smells like fruit or nail polish remover."

Sonny put his hands on his hips. "DeSoto, what would Gage do if he thought his kidnapper had this keto…whatever?"

Roy thought for a few seconds. "He would probably try to convince him to go to a doctor or to let him help."

"Thanks, DeSoto. Here's my number. Call if anything else comes to mind."

Roy accepted the simple white business card. "Detective, can you tell me who you think has Johnny?"

Brown eyes regarded him, then dropped. "All I can tell you is that at this point we are doing all we can to find your partner."


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks for all the reviews! This story has really taught me what I do__—__and don't__—__want to do next time around. Again, I'm not a paramedic, doctor, firefighter, or crazy killer, so I ask for your pardon if the details get messed up._

•••••

•••••

Johnny awoke slowly. His head hurt. From the sounds and scents surrounding him, he knew he was in the Rover, but he was foggy on how it was moving without his being at the wheel. He forced his heavy eyelids open and gradually determined he was in the back, his head resting at an uncomfortable angle on the heavy blanket he kept on hand for emergencies. Covering him was the tarp he took on camping trips. After a few moments of confusion, all the horror of the day came crashing down. Johnny tried to move his arms, but a sharp pain tore through both shoulders and down his back while something bit into his wrists. He was bound, hand and foot, with his own nylon cord.

The man had to be driving, he surmised. Suddenly he heard retching and smelled the unmistakable odor of vomit. The man had thrown up in the front seat.

"Listen to me," Johnny rasped. "You have diabetic ketoacidosis. You need to be seen at a hospital."

"Do you think for one second I believe you?" His captor sounded weak.

The car jerked to the right as the man swerved off the road and threw open his door. After another bout of vomiting, he asked, "Ketoacidosis?"

"Diabetic ketoacidosis," John confirmed.

"I'm not diabetic," the man insisted.

"This could be the first symptom," John argued. "You're obviously nauseous. Are you feeling confused? Does your breath smell like fruit? Are you really thirsty?"

The man put his head in his hands. "I don't know…"

"You need to get to a hospital, man."

"Shut up!"

Johnny complied as the man slammed the front door shut. He knew his captor might soon be unconscious, which wasn't a happy thought as he felt the Rover pull back into traffic. John frantically tried to think of a different approach he could take as he began to quietly fight with his bindings.

After what seemed to be an inordinately long time, the man swung into a parking space and turned off the car. "You had better not be jerking me around, fireman."

"Have I described one symptom that you don't have?" John shot back, the pain echoing in his pounding head far outweighing his fear at that moment.

Unbeknownst to John, the man had driven to Rampart Hospital and parked in the parking lot furthest from the main entrance. After making sure there weren't any people around, he got out and opened the back door. The killer lifted the tarp up enough to tighten the ropes at the paramedic's hands. Surveying the camping gear and other supplies John kept in the Rover, he grabbed a roll of duct tape and tore off a strip.

"Don't do this…" John began to protest as the tape was put across his mouth.

The killer then pushed John closer to the front seat. After wedging John's cooler in behind him, the man stretched the musty-smelling tarp over his captive. Then he unfolded the blanket with a snap and covered the tarp. Next he took John's backpack and laid it on top of the blanket. Feeling sure that no one would be the wiser about what was underneath, the man slammed the door shut and stumbled toward the hospital.

John waited until it was quiet before he tried to get free, but he felt as if he was wrapped like a mummy. Screaming for help behind his gag, John tried rocking back and forth, then tried to raise his legs up and down. Frustrated and feeling more than sick from what he knew had to be a concussion, Johnny slowed his breathing. If he threw up now, he would aspirate. It was a hot day and he could feel the sweat running down his back. As the adrenaline that had kept him going slowly dissipated, he let his eyes close. He was so tired. He would rest for just a minute.

••••••••••

Bob "The Animal" Bellingham arrived to fill in for Johnny. No one was sure whether his nickname came from his size, his gregariousness, or his table manners, but Bob was a smart paramedic who could make friends with just about anyone. And since he normally partnered with Craig "The Walking Rule Book" Brice, patients and coworkers alike appreciated his friendliness.

"Hey, Roy, are you finally ditching that string bean partner of yours for someone of real quality?" Bob teased as he entered the kitchen.

"Hi Bob," Roy managed.

"What's going on? Where's Gage anyway?"

The crew hesitated, but then the tones, which had been silent all day, signaled a run for them.

"I'll tell you on the way," Roy said as he and Bob headed toward the squad.

••••••••••

Sonny pulled up in front of the small nondescript brown stucco house with Vince's cruiser close behind. The two policemen walked quickly to the door. After they knocked three times, a short middle-aged woman in jeans and a T-shirt opened the front door.

"Is Michael Reynolds here?" Molino asked.

Warily eyeballing the badge the detective presented, she stepped back and opened the door wider, allowing them to come in.

Vince quickly surveyed the interior of the home, noticing a vacuum cleaner and a bucket of rags near the coffee table.

"Is he at home, ma'am?" Molino pressed.

She shook her head and closed the door behind them. "Not here," she said with a heavy Eastern European accent.

"Are you his wife?" Sonny asked.

The woman's lip curled in contempt. "Ha!"

"It's really important we speak to him, ma'am," Vince said.

"I just get here. I do the house." The woman shrugged and walked toward the kitchen. "Look if you want."

"Sounded like an invitation to me," Sonny said, exchanging a quick glance with Vince.

"Without a search warrant, anything we find here could get thrown out in court," Vince cautioned.

"We're just looking." Molino smiled thinly. He didn't mind bending the rules if someone's life was in danger, and he believed John Gage's was. He slowly looked around the living room while Vince headed down a hallway.

"Sonny! You need to see this!" Vince called sharply.

Molino rushed into the bedroom to find the officer standing over a several file folders scattered on the floor by the bed. In plain sight they could see a piece of paper with a list of names, each one crossed off except for one, which was circled several times in red ink: John Gage.

"We got him," Vince said.

Sonny nodded. "Now we have to find him."

••••••••••

Dr. Kelly Brackett's Lincoln Town Car glided smoothly toward the doctor's parking lot but came to an abrupt stop at the yellow tape and construction cones that blocked the entrance. The whole section was roped off for repaving. Releasing an impatient sigh, the head of Rampart's emergency department backed up and headed to the east lot, which was already almost full. Passing a row of pink and white oleander bushes, he finally found a vacant spot and pulled in next to Johnny's Land Rover.

"Why is Gage here?" he wondered aloud, gathering his briefcase and coat. Brackett locked his car and looked disdainfully at the Land Rover. It was, in his opinion, a piece of junk, but he had heard enough stories of Johnny's adventures in it to know his friend had a real affection for the car.

Brackett rapped on the hood. It was still warm.

••••••••••

Two loud bangs brought Johnny to the hazy edges of consciousness, but he couldn't quite wake up. Between the heat, the gag, and everything piled on top of him, it was hard to breathe. Soon he drifted back down into the darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

Fortunately, Roy and Bob's possible heart attack victim was suffering only from anxiety, but because of her age and the fact that she was so agitated Dr. Morton ordered them to transport the upset woman to Rampart.

"I'll go with her," Roy stated in a way that would brook no discussion. Not that Bob wanted to argue with him; he knew that treating a patient could help keep Roy's mind off of John.

Bob picked up their gear and loaded it into the squad. Following the ambulance, he finally had a few minutes to review the incredible story Roy had told him on the way to their call.

Bob parked the squad and went into the ER to look for his partner. Spying Roy exit treatment room one, Bob began talking before he even reached him. "I've been thinking about that note, Roy. Do you really think he meant ketoacidosis?"

Because the Animal spoke decibels over a normal person's indoor voice, Dixie and Dr. Early couldn't help overhearing at the nurses' station.

"Ketoacidosis?" Dr. Early repeated. "That's funny."

"What is?" Roy asked.

"We just admitted a man for that condition, didn't we, Dix?"

Dixie nodded, looking quizzically from Roy to Bob. Before she could ask about Johnny's whereabouts, Dr. Early thoughtfully tapped his pen on the counter. "Yeah, there was something strange about him."

The usually fair and friendly doctor's voice had an edge, which caught Roy's attention. Joanne always teased Roy about his "man's intuition" that came online if he thought something was wrong with her, his children, or Johnny. He preferred to call it his "Dad instinct." "Why do you say that?" Roy asked.

"He stumbled into the ER knowing exactly what was wrong with him, but the strange thing was, he has never been diagnosed as being diabetic before today." Dr. Early set his clipboard down. "In fact, this was the first time he's ever presented symptoms. After he stabilized, I asked how he knew about diabetic ketoacidosis, but he wouldn't say. There is something about him…I don't know," Dr. Early concluded with a shake of his silvery gray head.

From the no-nonsense look on her face, it was clear Dixie shared the doctor's opinion. "I know this condition can cause a patient to be mixed up, but he really is an odd duck. Instead of asking about his diagnosis, he kept demanding to know where I had put his personal belongings." She sat down on her stool and as an afterthought muttered indignantly, "As if I would steal an old pocket watch."

"What?" Bob exclaimed at the same time Roy yelled, "Did you say 'pocket watch'?"

Dixie and Dr. Early regarded the paramedics with surprise. "Want to enlighten us?" Dixie asked.

"Gage is in trouble!" Bob blurted out.

"Johnny?" Just coming on duty, Dr. Brackett walked up to get the most current updates from Dixie. "What's he done now?"

"It's a long story, but he's missing and it could have something to do with this patient," Roy declared.

Brackett's mouth twitched. "John's not missing. He's here at Rampart."

"What? Where?"

"I don't know exactly where in the hospital he is, but I parked by his Land Rover not twenty minutes ago."

"Are you sure it was Johnny's car?" Roy cried.

"I think I know the Rover when I see it, Roy," the doctor replied, annoyed.

Roy grabbed Dr. Brackett's arm. "We have to go there, now!"

Angry, Brackett jerked backwards. "Now wait just a minute…"

Roy whirled around to a perplexed Dixie. "That patient…what's his name? Where is he now?"

Dixie thumbed through her paperwork. "Michael Reynolds. He was admitted for observation."

Bob was half way to the exit as Roy fumbled to fish Sonny Molino's card from his pants pocket. "Dix, call this detective. Tell him that the killer is Michael Reynolds and he's here at Rampart. Send security up to his room."

"Killer?" she gasped.

"Doc, please come with us! Johnny could be hurt!" Roy pleaded.

Brackett hesitated, then nodded. He might not understand what was going on, but he fully trusted his paramedic. "Dix, send an ambulance over to meet us in the east lot, the last row on the right side by the bushes."

"Right, Kel," she said.

Dr. Brackett and Roy ran to catch up with Bob who was already getting in the driver's seat of the squad. Brackett squeezed in with the two medics, and Bob tore out.

"Roy, when we get there, let me take the lead," Bob said firmly.

"What? He's my partner!"

"That's exactly why. We don't even know if he'll be there or…or what condition he may be in. " Unusually quiet, Bob's tone was filled with compassion.

Roy shook his head. Whether he was disagreeing with Bob's request or refusing to acknowledge the possibility of John being dead, Bob didn't know.

"Can someone tell me what is going on?" Dr. Brackett demanded as Bob punched the accelerator.

"I will, doc, I will, but later, OK?" Roy's body tensed as he strained forward to spy the Rover. "Where do we need to go?"

"Go straight, then turn right," Brackett replied.

A blur of red, the squad sped down one row and made a squealing turn to another.

"Up there, I see it!" Roy gripped the dashboard. The squad hadn't even come to a full stop before Roy leapt out. "Johnny!"

"I don't see him!" Bob said, cupping his hands around his eyes to get a better look into the front seat. "Looks like someone puked in here."

Roy ran to the back but couldn't see anything but John's camping gear. He pounded on the back door. "Johnny!"

"Is he in there?" Brackett asked as an ambulance pulled up, lights flashing.

"I need something to break the window!" Roy ran to the squad and pulled out an oxygen tank. "Everyone, stand back!"

He struck the back window with all his might, causing fractures to spider web from the point of impact upward. Two, three, four more times he pounded until the glass shattered, sending shards and splinters over John's blanket and backpack. Roy frantically reached inside to open the door, then climbed in. He yanked the backpack out and threw it to the ground. Ignoring the pieces of glass that cut the palms of his hands, he pulled off the blanket and tarp.

"He's here! Bob, I need something to cut these ropes. Johnny, can you hear me?"

Bob handed Roy the scissors. The senior paramedic quickly freed his best friend's hands and feet. Gently Roy peeled away the tape that covered John's mouth.

"He's breathing!" Roy reported. Bob and Dr. Brackett watched as Roy skillfully felt his unconscious partner's limbs. "He doesn't have any broken bones."

"Bring that gurney around here." Bracket motioned for the ambulance attendants. "We need to get him out of there, it's like an oven!"

Together, Bob and Roy carefully maneuvered to lift their limp friend and move him from the car to the waiting stretcher.

"Get your gear," Dr. Brackett directed his paramedics. He checked John's pulse then respirations, not liking either reading. Next, he assessed the cut at John's right temple. It looked to him as if the young man had been pistol-whipped. John's face was flushed with heat and he was diaphoretic, his dark hair plastered to his head. Continuing his exam, Brackett felt a small lump at the back of John's head and a large one on the left side.

"Bob, get an IV started," he ordered. He did a sternum rub, which caused a small moan of pain to escape John's lips. "Let's go, let's go! He needs to be in the ER right now!"


	12. Chapter 12

Sounds.

But not really sounds. More like vibrations or changes in the air. As time passed, they took on a cadence. Gradually he could tell if some were low or high, soft or loud. The rhythms became words spoken by distinct voices.

"John, can you hear me?" Intelligent and strong.

"Come on, tiger, open those beautiful brown eyes for me." Warm and melodic.

"We're going to take some blood now, Johnny." Kind and trustworthy.

And the one constant voice in the background, the foreground, ever present. "Junior, please wake up."

More time, more words, more voices. In the core of his brain, understanding began to take place.

"Roy, it's been three days. When will he wake up?"

_Jo? Why are you crying? I'm fine._

"We're all here for you, buddy."

_Thanks, Cap._

"Mama said to tell you that when you feel better, she wants you to come over for dinner."

_I love your mother's enchiladas, Marco._

"Sheesh, Gage, you're milking this for all it's worth!"

_Shut up, Chet._

"I read a really interesting article the other day about this trail in the Sequoias."

_Really, Mike? _

And so it went. He slumbered in a starry twilight that soothed and rocked him.

On day four, Roy approached a breaking point, and everyone could see it. Between working, going home, and staying at the hospital when he could, the man was worn out mentally and physically. Station 51's A shift as well as other firemen who were friends with John took turns sitting with him, reading to him, or just talking about everyday happenings. But it was Roy who was the mainstay.

As Mike Morton and Dr. Brackett passed the waiting room, Mike gestured toward the paramedic, who was slumped in a chair on a break.

Dr. Brackett grimaced. "I'm going to recommend he take time off of work."

"Gage isn't improving?"

"No." The doctor crossed his arms across his chest. "He isn't."

••••••••••

It was an unfamiliar voice, deep and loud.

"Um, hello. I'm Detective Molino. We met that day at the park. I really don't know how to do this…anyway, I wanted to let you know Michael Reynolds—the man who kidnapped and assaulted you—is in jail."

Johnny's peace was jolted as images and feelings swirled in his mind's eye.

"It was really smart of you to get that scumbag to come to the hospital. I understand he might have died, and you, too, if you hadn't diagnosed him and convinced him to get treatment."

_The man. A gun. Fear._

"I know you went through a lot to keep your friends safe."

_The station. Save Chet. The note._

"When you get out of here, I'd like to take you out for a beer. So, um, feel better, OK? Just know you did the right thing and that you're safe. The guy is behind bars."

_Too much pain. Heat. That watch! Why did I ever pick up that watch?_

It was like coming up for air after swimming under water as John's senses gradually awoke. He became aware of the antiseptic smells of the hospital, the beeps of monitors, the weakness of stiff arms and legs that hadn't moved in a while.

The detective was across the room in three strides. John Gage, who was supposed to be in a coma, had moaned.

"Hang on, buddy. I'll go get help."

••••••••••

Roy sat in Dr. Brackett's office, listening but not listening to the doctor list the symptoms of exhaustion when the call came in. He watched as a rare smile blossomed across the doctor's features.

"He's coming out of it," he said as he hung up.

"He is?" A wave of relief passed over Roy.

Brackett nodded, still grinning. "Let's get up there."

As the doctor checked his stats, John followed his partner with partially open eyes. _I wonder how long I've been here_, he thought. Roy looked like hell.

"Hey, Junior, welcome back. How is he, doc?"

Dr. Brackett patted his patient on the shoulder. "He's going to be fine."

Roy took John's string of beads out of his pocket and held them up for his friend to see. "I've been keeping these safe for you," he sighed. "I'm going to go call Joanne and Cap to let them know. I'll be right back, Johnny."

John lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgment. He started to drift off when a big man he didn't know entered his room right after Roy left.

"How's he doing, Dr. Brackett?" the man asked.

"He'll be all right, detective. You were here at the right time."

Sonny walked up to John's bedside. "Mr. Gage, I'm Detective Molino. I am really, really happy to see you again."

John cocked his head to one side, a grin of recognition starting. He tried to speak, but the words weren't coming out. Sonny leaned over to hear what the paramedic was mouthing. To him it sounded like "beer."

••••••••••

When Chet came to visit him, Johnny was feeling much better, having eaten all of his breakfast after a good night's sleep.

"Hey, Gage, how ya doing today?" the curly-haired fireman asked as he pushed open the door.

"Not too bad, not too bad at all. How are you?"

"Good. Great, actually. Just talked to Donna down the hall. She is one sweet lady."

John rolled his eyes. "You don't stand a chance with her. She's seeing Dr. Flores in pediatrics."

Chet gave him a cocky grin. "Let the best man win." He looked around the room. "I see you finally got DeSoto to go home?"

Smoothing down his blanket John nodded. "Joanne and I double teamed him."

"You really did a number on him this time, Gage. I've never seen him so worried."

"Oh, like I got kidnapped and knocked out and was in a coma only to worry him? You are such an idiot." John snorted derisively.

For once Chet didn't have a snappy comeback. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and looked at the floor. "Yeah, um, about all of that? I wanted to thank you. I know you did what you did so I wouldn't get hurt."

John pointed toward a pitcher of water on the counter. "Would you mind pouring me some?"

"Sure," Chet replied, reaching for a cup.

"Not too much, just half a cup. Try to find a straw, too. And get me some ice."

With an exasperated sigh, Chet said, "You might think spending some time in a coma might rewire your brain and you'd wake up a little less annoying, but that didn't happen, did it?"

John grinned as Chet slammed the cup into his hand, splashing water onto the sheets. "You wouldn't have me any other way, now would you?"

••••••••••

A few days after Johnny was released, the assistant district attorney phoned to let him know that he wouldn't have to testify at Michael Reynolds' trial. The murderer would plead guilty on all counts in exchange for a full confession in open court and the death penalty taken off the table.

"The judge will hear the confession and sentence Reynolds on July 30," George Hudson told him.

"May I be present?" John asked.

"Yes, sir."

John hung up the phone slowly. As painful as it might be, he needed to know the answer to one lingering question: Why?


	13. Chapter 13

_Thank you to everyone who has followed this story and sent me comments and reviews. They mean more to me than I can say. I have the opening scene of a new story in my head, but I don't know what's going to happen yet. When I find out, I'll let you know. _

••••••••••

After finagling the schedule with the other shift captains of Station 51, Hank Stanley arranged for his crew to be off the day of the hearing in order to support their friend and coworker. The afternoon Michael Reynolds was to confess and receive his sentence, the firemen waited outside courtroom three, trying to make small talk as they waited for Johnny to come out of the restroom.

"You going to be OK?" Roy leaned against the cold industrial white bathroom wall as his friend splashed cold water on his face.

John looked up at Roy's reflection in the mirror. "I have to do this, Roy. For me and for Bonita."

When they joined their friends in the hallway, John saw Dixie and Dr. Brackett were there, too.

"How are you doing, tiger?" The platinum-blonde nurse rubbed his arm.

"What are you doing here?" he asked the pair.

"John, we saw the aftermath of what happened when Reynolds left you in your car. We want to see you get the justice you deserve," Dr. Brackett replied.

The double doors opened, and Vince Howard let them know the proceedings were about to start. Flanked by Captain Stanley on his right and Roy on his left, John sat down toward the back of the gallery as Chet, Marco, and Mike slid in behind him. Dixie and Dr. Brackett sat together in the row in front of him. It was as if his friends wanted to buffer him from what he was about to hear.

Already seated at the defendant's table up front, Michael Reynolds had his head down as he leaned over to his attorney. Everyone rose when the judge entered the courtroom. He spoke, the court reporter typed, but it was all a buzzing noise in John's ears until he heard that voice. The man's voice.

"There is a piece of land near Emerson Canyon Park that belongs to my grandfather. The house isn't there any more, but that's where I grew up. That park was like my backyard. I know every inch of it.

"My mother," he said with disgust, "wasn't around much when I was little, and she wasn't around at all after my dad left. It was just grandfather and I. That mean old man was the most important person in my life. I did everything for him.

"When that housing development went in, the price of the land skyrocketed, but grandfather didn't have a clue. I had put him in a home by that point. Bonita Williams was his physical therapist, and she resembled my mom, I guess. He would get confused and call her Judy." Michael literally simmered with rage. "I had done everything for him, paid his bills, made sure he got the right care. Then he…he told me he had decided to leave the land to her. I had just found out when she called to ask about my watch. _My_ watch! The only thing grandfather had ever given me. She said he missed his watch and wanted it back. Then she offered to come get it."

"She came over to my house on June 22. I let her in and told her the watch was in the bathroom. She went with me to get it. Then I shot her." Michael tried to keep his voice even, but his hatred came through loud and clear. "She was dead instantly. I put her in an old suitcase and cleaned the bathroom. Then I drove her car to the LAX long-term parking lot and took a bus home. That night I took the suitcase to a spot I knew in the park. I had brought wood from home for a bonfire, and I put her on top of it. I set the kindling on fire."

"He killed her…over land and a watch?" John whispered incredulously.

"After the fire department came, I hung around. I saw John Gage find my watch. I guess I dropped it. After I left the park, I put the keys to her car in the suitcase and left it in a dumpster behind a supermarket in Long Beach," he continued. "I found out the names and addresses of everyone at Station 51 through my job in the county personnel office. I went to Mr. Gage's apartment to get the watch back and forced him to drive his car to the fire station when I found out he kept it in his locker. He didn't want to cooperate but then he did because I threatened the lives of Roy DeSoto's family and some other people."

John heard the swift intake of air to by his partner; Roy hadn't known that part.

"After he got the watch, I got sick. Mr. Gage diagnosed me, and I went to Rampart Hospital to get treated. When I went in, I left Mr. Gage tied up in his car."

John leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Several hands patted him on the back. The judge was speaking, but he wasn't listening anymore. It was over. All over. He didn't sit back up until the deputies led Reynolds from the courtroom. Finally, John saw his abductor's face.

"He looks…normal, just like you and me," he said, noting Michael's average features, short brown hair, and blue eyes.

"But he's not like you and me," Roy said, watching his partner's ashen face carefully. "He killed someone without giving it a second thought. You were willing to sacrifice yourself for Jo and the kids without a second thought."

Johnny met Roy's light blue eyes and saw gratitude. "Roy, it never crossed my mind to do otherwise. I love them."

Noticing John was wearing the delicate string of beads, Roy asked, "Are you ever going to tell me the story behind that necklace?"

John smiled. "Maybe. Some day."

••••••••••

Summer blooms peeked out of every corner, the canyon rocks glowing with vivid flowers. Johnny stood at the trailhead, watching the DeSotos' paneled station wagon pull into the parking lot. Chris and Jenny waved from inside the car, and he waved back.

"Uncle Johnny, mommy says we're going to have a picnic!" Jennifer shouted as she opened her door.

"That's right, pumpkin pie."

"I brought the baseball and gloves!" Chris announced.

Joanne gave John a kiss on the cheek. "Are you sure you want to be here?"

He nodded. "I'll always remember what happened, but this is a beautiful place and I don't want bad memories keeping me away. Especially when the park is going to get bigger."

"What do you mean?" Roy asked as he lifted a picnic basket and plaid blanket from the back of the Buick.

"Detective Molino called. Reynolds' grandfather passed away. It turns out he really did change his will and left that land over there to Bonita. Her only relative is a brother who lives out of state, and he's making arrangements to give the land to the county to make it part of the park. In Bonita's memory."

"I'm glad," Roy said. As he joined his family, he gave the gleaming white Rover a second glance. "I have never seen your car this clean, Junior."

"You ain't seen anything yet. Look at this!" John opened the door and with a sweep of his arm revealed a pristine interior. "Dr. Brackett got it detailed. Said something about since I insisted on driving a rust bucket, it might as well be a clean one. I guess he felt bad because he walked by and didn't know I was in there, even though I told him there was no way he could've known."

"How long do you think it will stay this way?" Roy teased.

"I dunno. Maybe a few days?" John laughed. "What did you bring to eat, Jo?"

Joanne linked her arm through Roy's. "All of your favorites. Which means a little of everything."

"I'm hungry! I found a really great spot a little ways up the trail. So," Johnny said, leaning over to look both kids in the eyes. "Who wants to take a walk in the park?"

The End


End file.
